Breaking the rules
by Natalie Nallareet
Summary: Sherlock knows a clear way of escaping Moriarty's game with minimal damage to John. Unfortunately for Sherlock, John's not going to let him die that easily. Johnlock, death fic, One-shot.


_**A/C: **A few weeks ago I had the plot bunny working off of this gif: . /9c841b86dc734a9ced5e17ac640c 6e8a/tumblr_merm7ckeX91rl8sqvo1_ _

_and had the plot bunny, of them actually doing that and committing suicide to escape the game. Then the other night while rewatching the first episode, it suddenly splattered onto paper. Although it's not long, I'm very pleased with how it turned out._

_**Rated T** _because character deaths and romance

**_Point of view_**_third person_

* * *

"John, you trust me, right?" Sherlock breathed, leaning up against the building that sheltered the tiny alley that they had run to. As he spoke, Sherlock's breathing seemed far louder and heavier to John than the busy city streets of London that lay just paces away. But it was John's hands that were sweating so profusely, wound tightly between Sherlock's fingers.

"Of course," John panted, not daring to go too far from Sherlock's side, in fear that the handcuffs would cut into the side of their wrists. The vacancy of the alley swam in front of John in a breathless haze, the building in front of them encasing him in the small space with Sherlock. "Sherlock... you alright?"

"Fine," Sherlock murmured, casting his eyes wearily about, searching for any sort of movement that could give away another person. The wind played at a loose shingle, but besides that there was no movements that could suggest an eavesdropper. Still he kept his eyes busy, unable to focus on the army doctor beside him.

John shifted slightly, his stance ridged beside Sherlock, almost leaning on the consulting detective, himself. "What are we doing?" John whispered grimly, attempting to follow Sherlock's gaze.

"We need to get this off," Sherlock gestured to the metal that forced their hands together, ignoring John's question. With his spare hand he pulled a small pin from his back pocket, the silver tool gleaming slightly between his fingertips. With a hyper speed, Sherlock began twisting the pin in the lock of their handcuff, straining both John and his hand for a better angle.

"Shouldn't we be getting somewhere safer first?" John hissed, craning his neck to ensure that none of the cops had followed them during their run. Still nothing of importance was moving.

"No time," Sherlock clarified, exhaling slightly, the tiny remnant of a smile twisted on his lips as he heard the smallest click from the lock. Finally he let his eyes meet John's, holding the gaze for a long twisting moment of breathing that was far too loud. "There's only one way we're going to beat Moriarty at this game. He won't get his perfectly schemed ending. We'll have to split up for now. Just head down the alley and keep out of sight. Loop around to Saint Barts, I'll meet you there."

"Sherlock," John started worriedly, his eyes still not wavering from the pool of intertwining blues and greens that made up Sherlock's eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"Not much really..." Sherlock muttered uncomfortably, breaking their gaze to look down the alley once again. Still nothing. He couldn't tell John what was really going to happen once they had split up... how fatal the path to destroying Moriarty would be. Otherwise the doctor would never leave his side, wouldn't understand how important it was that Moriarty didn't get the victory he had schemed.

"Are you going to meet me at Saint Bart's? Promise?" John insisted, the sound of his voice causing the undeniable pang of guilt to well up inside of Sherlock. "You're not about to do something stupid-"

"John," Sherlock interrupted, his jaw painfully tight as he let his eyes meet John's once again. A slight panic rang through the sound of the one-syllabled name. "Moriarty has gotten too much of the upper hand and every single variable that could be going his way is. The ending to this game is obvious. But there's one thing I can do to stop it."

"God, you don't mean... No Sher-" John started, realization flickering in his eyes.

Before John could speak another syllable, Sherlock reached forward. Grasping at the front of John's shirt, Sherlock pulled him up into a kiss. The moment was brief, and soon Sherlock was attempting to sprint back towards the road.

But John, though stunned by the sudden kiss, managed to grasp Sherlock's hand as it slid from his. John stumbled forward, brought forward by the force of Sherlock's sprint.

"If you have to do it," John breathed, hearing his voice through a layer of numbness that made him feel so very far away through his ears. "We do it. Together."

For a fleeting moment Sherlock hesitated, surveying John with a desperate gleam in his eyes. Then he nodded, his movement fast and jerky, almost unnatural when compared to the fluidness that the consultant usually moved in.

One hand held in the other, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson sprinted out into the busy city street. The two of them stood tall in front of the oncoming city bus, unafraid of their end.


End file.
